The World According to Draco Malfoy

The World According to Draco Malfoy

by Marysia (Dec 2002)

Rating: G

Summary: The first 4 books told from Draco's point of view. Prequel to The Marks We Bear.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

----------------------------------

Chapter 4 - Ups and Downs

The next week at Hogwarts didn't get much better for Draco. Admittedly he was finding it easier than he had expected to impress his peers, although he suspected it had more to do with his family name than anything he actually said. Most of the time he fell back on cold disdainful looks and mocking sneers, which were working out pretty well. He had left Lisa Turpin in tears yesterday when she had knocked over his bag on the way to her seat. Girls were really easy to upset, all he had done was look at her and make a remark to Crabbe, quite loudly, that perhaps the school should institute a new house for the terminally incompetent as clearly the current system was flawed with an aside that if she wasn't so fat she might be able to fit between the desks without causing mass destruction.

He was pleased to see that, despite a few early dissenters, the rest of his house were quite happy to go along with his opnion of Potter on the grounds that he was a Gryffindor and they were apparantly the enemy. Despite his violent dislike for the school and its inhabitants he was starting to get the hang of how things worked. It seemed that despite, or perhaps because of, a years long winning streak in Quidditch his house was universally discriminated against and put down by every non-Slytherin at Hogwarts, even the teachers. They were the black sheep of the school. Gryffindor, on the other hand, were the favoured child, and now that Potter was a Gryffindor they were even more popular. Gryffindor could do no wrong and Slytherin no right, unless the teacher involved was Professor Snape. This state of affairs was almost certainly the fault of the Headmaster, who, his father had told him, had used the chaos of the war to put himself in a position of power where he could further his own private agenda and indulge his prejudice against purebloods. It also meant that while the name Malfoy carried weight in Slytherin house it often counted against him in the rest of the school. In the corridors on Monday morning yet another Weasley boy had hissed to him that "they knew what his father was and if he caused any trouble they would deal with him."

The Weasleys really were the lowest of the low, worse than Mudbloods, people like them were the reason the wizarding world was full of Mudbloods to start with. Potter might be an over-hyped prat with terrible taste in both friends and clothing, but at least he had the excuse of being brought up by Muggles. The Weasleys were traitors, pure-blooded wizards who squandered their time standing up for Mudbloods while stabbing their fellow wizards in the back at every opportunity, all out of petty jealousy for those cleverer and better off than themselves.

He suspected that the Sorting Hat was a big con used by the Headmaster to put those he favoured into Gryffindor and those who stayed true to the ideals of the wizarding world into Slytherin where he could keep them down. Only it wasn't working, pure-blood showed through as their past successes in Quidditch and with the House Cup showed!

He was looking forward to the start of the Quidditch season, to watching his house show the rest of them up. He missed flying. Apparantly they would start flying lessons in a week or two, as if he needed them! At least he would get to fly a bit even if it was on a scabby school broom. If they were going to have flying lessons anyway it was stupid that they couldn't bring their own brooms to school.

Everyone was crazy about flying, especially the other boys. He had got a great reception to his helicopter story when he had told it at the breakfast table yesterday, even some of the Gryffindors had been listening in, Potter certainly had. Potter probably didn't know which way round a broom went and he doubted any of his little friends would be much help, the Weasleys probably couldn't afford broomsticks. He would leave Potter gaping in amazement when flying lessons started, he would be able to fly rings round anyone in his year for sure. He couldn't wait.

------

On Monday morning of their next week the details of their flying lessons were announced, they would be on Thursday afternoons - with the Gryffindors! Draco was so excited he completely forgot to gloat in the Gryffindors direction over his weekly delivery of sweets, he did love to rub it in that Potter never got any mail from his relatives. Stupid Muggles probably didn't know how to send owl post, probably couldn't afford to buy him presents if the state of his clothes and glasses were anything to go by. In fact he was so busy picturing Potter's jealous expression as he flew upside down over his head that he didn't notice Goyle eating all his chocolate frogs. When he did notice his extremely depleted pile of goodies and the hardly inconspicuous chocolate stains round Goyle's mouth he refused to speak to him all day out of principal, but really he was completely distracted by ever more fanciful daydreams about how he would dazzle everyone so much that they would be sure to put him on the Quidditch team even though he was only in first year.

These thoughts kept his spirits up through the start of the week and he wrote his mother a long letter about the upcoming lesson with considerably less complaining in it than his usual letters. She wrote back on Thursday morning to say...

Dearest Draco,

I am so glad you seem to be settling in at last, I have been so very worried about you. I hope you are not getting too overexcited about your flying lessons, I know you are an excellent flyer but I am sure the teachers would not consider letting someone so young play a dangerous game like Quidditch no matter how much promise they showed. I would be absolutely terrified to think of my little boy up there with all those bludgers!

Draco looked up from his letter to see a parcel being dropped off at the Gryffindor table, looked like Longbottom's grandmother was still acknowledging his existence. Draco suspected that had he shown the same level of incompetence in his lessons he would have been disowned immediately. He tucked his letter into his robes, scooped the rest of his sweets into his book bag and finished off his toast. Time to go see what Longbottom had and maybe annoy Potter a little just for good measure. Crabbe and Goyle automatically scrambled after him, stuffing the last of their fry-ups into their mouths and, in Goyle's case, a couple of sausages into his pocket just in case.

Draco walked casually up the hall, as if he always strolled past the Gryffindor table of a morning. Looking over Longbottom's shoulder he saw he was holding a glass ball full of red smoke. He had no idea what it was, but he grabbed it out of his hand anyway. Potter and Weasley jumped to their feet immediately, looking as if this was easily enough reason to attack him. Savages. Before Draco could decide what to say to them Professor McGonagall appeared.

"What's going on?" she asked sharply, giving Draco a suspicious look.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Longbottom whined.

Draco scowled at him and put the Remembrall back on the table. There was no chance of McGonagall siding with a Slytherin. "Just looking," he said pointedly and left. Trust Longbottom to go crying to a teacher when there was nothing even going on. He was such a cry baby.

"Bet Longbottom sleeps in the girls dormitory," he commented to Crabbe and Goyle once they were out of earshot. "He certainly acts like one. Bet he's scared of flying, just wait till this afternoon, bet he cries or falls of his broom or something."

"We could knock him off his broom," suggested Goyle. To be honest Goyle was a bit of a savage too, actually a lot of a savage. If there was one thing Goyle enjoyed it was breaking things - other people's things - or other people for that matter.

"If you want to push someone off their broom, push Finnigan, just don't get caught doing it," Draco said. "If I overhear him tell that stupid story about racing a Muggle jet plane once more I'll be forced to stab him. Besides I'm quite sure Longbottom can fall off his broom without any help."

"What is a jet plane?" Crabbe asked.

"No idea," Draco answered idly. "I suppose it must be an airyplane made of jet, seems odd to make something that flies out of stone though. Muggles do the strangest things."

"How do they stay in the air?" Goyle wondered.

"Well how should I know?" Draco snapped. "Go ask that know-it-all Mudblood if you really want to know! Personally I don't care how they do it, but it can't be very fast can it, not if it's made of stone."

"I heard they can fly right around the world in less than a day," Crabbe said, clearly too caught up in thoughts of this marvel of Muggle technology to realise just how annoyed Draco was getting.

"I heard they can fly to the moon!" added Crabbe.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snapped. "All that is just propaganda spread by Muggle-lovers like the Weasleys and Dumbledore. Besides, why would anyone want to fly to the moon, it's just a big lump of rock."

Goyle looked upset. "Are you sure? I thought there was moon mice lived up there."

"Next you'll be telling me you think it's made of cheese!" Draco sneered. "You'll believe anything."

"No mice then?" Goyle looked very disappointed.

-----

Draco walked down to the grassy area where their first flying lesson was to take place with plenty of time to spare, the rest of his house trailing behind him. He made a show of acting as if this was simply his due, but he knew it was just that Crabbe and Goyle always followed him around and Pansy seemed to be under the delusion that if she kept tagging along at his heels he would eventually give in to her supposed charms. What she intended to do with him then was a terrifying thought. The other girls followed Pansy of course. Zabini was the only one who marched to his own tune, whatever tune that was. He somehow managed to follow the group and appear detached at the same time, as though he were taking notes on them all for an essay.

It was a beautiful day for flying, clear with a light breeze. There were brooms already laid out and Draco prowled between them with a growing scowl. "These brooms are a disgrace!" he announced, kicking one particularily poor specimen for emphasis. The handles were bashed and scuffed and the tails were bent and broken. "It'll be a miracle if we make it off the ground."

"They're safe though, aren't they?" said Pansy nervously, sidling up to him.

Draco stepped away from her. "I very much doubt it," he said loftily. "I wouldn't be surprised if they give out above ten or fifteen feet."

"Give out!" Pansy squealed, making a grab for his arm.

Draco avoided her with an ease that was becoming second nature, making it look almost as though he hadn't noticed her there. He could see the Gryffindors marching over the grass towards them, Potter and Weasley in the lead as usual, and their teacher not far behind them.

Madame Hooch was a thin woman of indeterminate age and a dangerous gleam in her strangely coloured eyes. Her hair was short and had a permanantly flyaway look as if she had just climbed off a broom. Draco didn't trust her, he wasn't convinced she was entirely human.

Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at them all as they approached. The thought of having to ride one of these pathetic school brooms was putting him in a very bad mood. How was he supposed to show his skills on a substandard broom? He looked around for one slightly less worn than the rest.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madame Hooch asked them. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Draco stepped over to the one he had decided was least abused.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, Up!"

Draco stuck out his hand and in a quiet but commanding voice he said, "Up."

The broom sprang up into his hand reassuringly and he swung his leg over it, looking over the rest of the class with a superior expression as most of them struggled to get their brooms to raise off the ground. Annoyingly, Potter was having no such trouble, but Longbottom was getting nowhere. Draco smirked at him and then stared off at the horizon wishing he were already aloft. He was pulled back to earth by Madame Hooch yanking at his wrist.

"Not like that boy, one gust of wind and you'll lose control."

"I've been flying just fine for years holding it like this," Draco protested, returning his hands to their previous

position. He could hear Weasley sniggering.

"Do as you're told." She yanked his wrist back again. "I know what I'm talking about."

"Ow!" he yelped. He rubbed his wrist as she turned away. Where on earth did the school recruit it's teachers, St Mungo's?

Madame Hooch resumed her position in front of them and ordered them to take off on the count of three. Pointedly putting his hands back where they had been before, Draco prepared to kick off, but before he could Longbottom disrupted the class as expected.

Before Hooch had even blown her whistle, Longbottom shot into the air with a surprised squeak. Draco rolled his eyes at Crabbe as Madame Hooch shouted for him to get back down. Just as Draco was wondering if Longbottom might end up unwittingly testing the altitude capabilities of the broom the idiot fell off. Draco swallowed back nausea at the cracking noise made when he hit the ground, it was a good thing everyone had been too busy staring at Longbottom to notice him wincing. He quickly schooled his features and by the time Madame Hooch had escorted Longbottom away he had got over his fit of squeamishness.

He looked over at Crabbe, who grinned back at him and made exaggerated crying faces, Draco started to laugh. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Crabbe and Goyle started to laugh too, then Pansy, Cynthia and Morag started to giggle, Zabini looked vaguely amused.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said one of the Patil girls.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy answered her. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

Draco ignored them, he had spotted something glittering in the grass near where Longbottom had fallen. "Look!" he said, darting forward to pick it up, "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held it up and peered into it, wondering what it did.

Potter stepped out of the crowd with a determined expression on his face. "Give that here, Malfoy," he demanded.

So Potter was going to try and put on a show was he? Well he'd picked the wrong place for it. Draco grinned in anticipation, his hand gripping tighter around the handle of the broom he was still holding. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect - how about - up a tree?"

He leapt onto the broom and was off, leaving Potter yelling helplessly after him. Gods it was good to be back in the air! When he reached level with the top of a nearby oak tree he spun around and waved the glass ball at Potter. "Come and get it, Potter!" he shouted triumphantly

To his surprise Potter grabbed up his broom. Ignoring Granger's protests he mounted it and kicked off into the air. Draco stared in shock as Potter shot up as if he'd been flying all his life and wheeled around to face him with a look of untamed glee. "Give it here or I'll knock you off that broom!" Potter snarled, his eyes sparking behind his glasses.

For a split second Draco couldn't remember what he was talking about, then he realised he was still clutching the glass bauble in his hand, leaving him with only one hand to steady his broom. "Oh, yeah?" he answered weakly, trying to look as confident as he had felt five minutes ago. Surely Potter didn't actually know what he was doing up here, he'd been raised by Muggles, he couldn't possibly have flown before. But Potter looked terribly confident on that broom.

Suddenly Potter was diving towards him and Draco almost lost his grip swerving to avoid him. Whether he knew what he was doing or not, Potter was flying like a maniac.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Potter said, and Draco could swear he saw madness glinting in his eye. What if Potter really did mean to knock him off his broom? He could break his neck falling from this height! He'd be dead before any of the teachers found him, there would be nothing to do but transport his broken body back to the Manor for burial in the family crypt, he'd be doomed to haunt Hogwarts for the rest of eternity! All because Potter was mentally unhinged and had some sort of grudge against him. How was he supposed to escape Potter when even the Dark Lord fell before him.

Draco felt dizzy, he had to distract Potter and get back on the ground. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted desperately and threw the glass ball away from himself as hard as he could. He sped back towards the ground, clutching his broomstick tightly and hoping that Potter wasn't chasing him.

He landed a little harder than usual and then spun around to see behind him. He caught sight of Potter diving to the ground some way off before his view was blocked.

"Draco!" Pansy gasped. "Are you all right?"

Behind her someone shouted out, "He caught it!"

"He what?" Draco spluttered, pushing his way past Pansy just in time to spot McGonagall bearing down on them. For once her fearsome glare was not directed at him but at Potter, who was still picking himself up off the ground.

"Ooh," Pansy cooed in anticipation. "He's in trouble now, Madame Hooch said if anyone touched the brooms they'd be expelled!"

"Really?" said Draco, delighted, then quickly, "She didn't see me did she?"

But it didn't seem she had as she was far too busy shouting at Potter to even glance his way. Draco stepped up next to Crabbe and Goyle and made sure to give Potter a wide grin as he was led away.

"Well," he said loudly once they were gone. "So much for him!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" said Weasley angrily. "What do you know?"

"A lot more than you do, Weasley. You'll need to find some other poor sap to put up with you now, perhaps you can pal up with Longbottom."

"She won't really expel him will she?" said Lavender Brown, making concerned cow eyes.

"Madame Hooch did say..." began Granger.

"Shut up, Hermione!" wailed Weasley. "He's not going to get expelled!"

"Someone get a handkerchief," Draco sneered. "Weasley's going to cry."

"I'll tell you what Weasley's going to do!" the Gryffindor growled. "Weasley's going to punch you in your stupid pointy nose."

Draco looked unimpressed as Crabbe and Goyle loomed menacingly either side of him. Granger caught hold of his arm and hissed something in his ear.

"Oh, please, do let him try," Draco said smoothly. "Both of them being expelled in the same day would greatly raise my opinion of the school."

Before Weasley could pull himself loose from Granger a strident voice came from the direction of the school. "Right then! Everyone back in line," ordered Madame Hooch. "No need to let a little accident stop the lesson."

They quickly reformed themselves into lines next to their forgotten broomsticks. Madame Hooch looked them over and frowned. "Where has Potter got to?" she asked, scanning the skies.

"Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to him," Draco answered helpfully, smirking at Weasley.

"Alright then," she said. "Everyone remount their brooms and we'll try this again. Don't forget to kick off gently!"

And so they continued their flying lesson at if Potter weren't packing his meagre possessions up and probably snivelling into his trunk as he did so. That would teach him to try and knock Draco Malfoy off his broom.

Draco was pleased to see that he was indeed the best flyer in his class. Pansy and Granger could hardly get off the ground, althogh he got the inpression Pansy wasn't really trying. Millicent Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle were hard to tell apart once airborne, three clumsy, black clad figures with no real talent but also absolutely no fear,they shot about like particularly large bludgers and in the end they did succeed in "accidentally" knocking Finnegan off his broom.

Weasley tried very unsubtly to crash into him a couple of times but Draco dodged him easily and then flew a couple of rings around him for good measure. Weasley was so angry he almost slipped off his broom trying to twist around to yell after him.

All in all it was a very enjoyable afternoon.

--------------

When Draco arrived in the Great Hall that day for dinner he wasn't surprised to see Potter, every condemned man deserves a last meal after all, but he was confused to see him looking so cheerful. Surely he had at least got detention even if he hadn't been expelled, McGonagall had looked furious.

Potter was speaking animatedly to Weasley about something that was making the red-head gape like a dead trout. He had to find out what was going on, this was ridiculous. If he had been caught by McGonagall he wouldn't have been grinning and laughing like an idiot about it, but then he wasn't a Gryffindor was he? He wasn't Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Boy Who Could Do No Wrong! It was so unfair.

Draco fumed at his dinner for a few minutes then thought, well, even if Potter had somehow got off with only a slapped wrist, surely a few more black marks on his record might change that. If he was perhaps caught out of bed after hours by that caretaker and his fleabag cat...

"Come on you two," he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle. "We need to go pay a visit to Potter."

"Right now?" asked Crabbe, his voice muffled by a mouth full of steak and kidney pie.

"Yes, right now," he said impatiently. "You can't be that hungry, you ate enough to feed the whole school at lunchtime, I have no idea how you managed to get off the ground this afternoon."

"Ha ha," said Crabbe sourly, getting up. Neither he nor Goyle took Draco's insults to heart, they were used to them, it was just the way Draco was.

He led them over to the Gryffindor table, walking slowly to avoid bumping into two of the older Weasley's. "Having a last meal, Potter?" he asked hopefully when they got there. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

Potter looked up at him with cold superiority, looking far too composed for Draco's comfort. "You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you."

He heard Crabbe and Goyle mutter and tense either side of him, but they knew better than to do more without Draco's okay. He desperately wanted to give it, right this moment he felt there was nothing he would like more than to watch them pound Potter's smug expression into a pulp. How dare he sit there being so bloody confident when he should be on his way back to London. Just because he had got lucky again, didn't make him better than Draco by a long shot. He was struck by a moment of inspiration. "I'd take you on anytime on my own," he told him. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel." Potter looked confused. "Wands only," he explained. "no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

As he waited for Potter's answer, extremely happy with having wiped most of that cool confidence away, Weasley butted in. "Of course he has. I'm his second, who's yours?"

Trying not to smile, he faked trying to decide which of his two companions would make the better second. "Crabbe," he said finally, and then casually laid the trap. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

When there was no immediate disagreement he nodded curtly. "Good, see you then Potter, Weasley. Don't be late." He made his escape before he could give the game away by laughing.

When Draco tried to lead Crabbe and Goyle on out of the hall they immediately protested. "I haven't finished my dinner yet," Goyle complained.

"Me either," said Crabbe. "Aren't you still hungry? You hardly ate anything for lunch."

"I never eat much before I fly," Draco excused himself. "I've had enough, I want to go now."

"Well, we'll see you later then," Crabbe said hopefully.

"Fine then," said Draco a little sulkily. "I'll see you later."

He left the hall as if he were heading down to their dormitories but then took a side corridor that led back out into the main body of the school. Checking to make sure none of the Gryffindors were around he slipped down the corridor that he knew led to the office of Mr Filch, the school's caretaker.

He had never spoken to Filch before, all he really knew of him was what he had heard from the older students in his house. He sounded pretty scary, but in order for this to work he had to tip someone off and the only other person he could think of was Snape and that would be too obvious. Besides, he didn't want to risk Snape thinking he was a tell tale or that he was so childish he was playing pranks on Potter instead of focusing on his school work.

So, since Crabbe and Goyle had deserted him for the sake of their stomachs, he would have to figure out how to tip off Filch alone and to add insult to injury he was missing dessert.

In the end he decided it was too risky to tell him face to face, it would have to be anonymous... a note, left in the corridor outside Filch's rooms as if it had been dropped there by accident.

In block letters he wrote, "MIDNIGHT, TROPHY ROOM, DON'T BE LATE!" He crumpled it up a bit and left it lying on the shadowy stone floor, then he fled.

When he got back to his dormitory he took out his Potions textbook and started reading up in preparation for tomorrow's class, but it wasn't long before he was interrupted.

Crabbe and Goyle burst into the room. "Draco!" said Crabbe. "You can't duel Potter tonight!"

"I have no intention of dueling Potter tonight or any night, I have better things to do, and how many times do I have to tell you to stop using my first name."

"Sorry, we're just used to calling you that."

"Well get unused to it."

"What do you mean you're not going to duel Potter?" asked Goyle. "You said..."

"I know what I said, and if you two hadn't been in such a hurry to go back to dinner I could have told you what I was doing earlier."

They waited patiently for Draco to explain himself.

"I'm setting Potter and Weasley up, I've tipped off Filch and when they go out to meet us tonight he'll catch them out of bed. That on top of Potter's little show this afternoon should get him into enough trouble that they can't just ignore it for a change. They'll have to punish him."

"Oh, I see," said Goyle. "So we're still going to Astronomy then?" he looked disappointed.

"Yes we're still going to Astronomy. Did you finish your star charts?"

"Greg drew Ursa Major upside down," said Crabbe.

"I did not!" Goyle protested.

"Did so."

Draco sighed. "Let me see it then."

It was upside down. In fact most of the constellations were upside down or back-to-front, due to the fact that he and Crabbe had done their homework at the same time on opposite sides of the same desk. Goyle had simply copied Crabbe's chart as he'd drawn it, but hadn't quite managed to get his head around how to get everything turned around properly. It was a complete disaster and it took Goyle all evening to recopy it using one that was facing him. Somehow he still managed to get Ursa Major wrong.

----------------

Draco found it next to impossible to concentrate on the night sky that evening, wondering if Potter had shown up, if Filch had found the note. He had a sudden awful thought. What if there was a spell that could tell you who had written something! In fact now he thought about it, he was almost certain there was. He stepped back from his telescope in horror. What if Potter didn't show up and Filch did the spell on the note and thought Draco had done it on purpose to trick him?

"Have you located it, Mr Malfoy?" asked the hoarse voice of Professor Sinistra.

"What!" he squeaked, then coughed to cover it up. "Not yet," he said in a steadier voice. "Just taking a moment to rest my eye." He went back to his telescope and tried to focus on finding the nebula they were looking for, he kept forgetting the coordinates.

That night he had a run of thematic nightmares in which he was expelled from school over and over again, but each dream varied in how. Once he was already home but he knew it was because he had been expelled and he was waiting for his father to come home from a trip and find out he had been expelled. In another one they had both been caught on the brooms by McGonagall and Potter had rolled about on the ground laughing as McGonagall had expelled Draco and completely forgiven Potter who was inexplicably dressed only in leaves. In that one he had screamed and yelled at the unfairness of it and hit McGonagall over the head with his broom several times. Then there was a really weird one where he was Harry Potter but everyone still thought he was Draco Malfoy and he got expelled for saying he was Harry Potter, when he'd looked in a mirror in that dream he'd had a scar on his forehead and glasses and green eyes but his hair had still been blond.